Locked In
by landLadynotyrhouseKeeper
Summary: Sherlolly short with slight smut (chp 7). Sherlock met molly the first time at prom and he feel in love. Years later he meets her again and he can't help but feel the same. He denies it time and time again. In the process he hurts her and others he loves. In the end, even the best fall down sometimes. Editor: Shilo the Game Changer. It is completed, release dates have been chosen.
1. The girl of no secrets

Sherlock was angry. Beyond angry. His brother had sided with his mother forcing him to attend his senior prom. They made him put on a tux, they made him take pictures with his brother and his brothers date. They practically had to dress him themselves. He refused to smile in the pictures or so much as pretend to have a good time. This was not his idea of a good time.

"When can I leave?" He had to shout over the music so his brother could hear him. It was only an hour under way and he was already sick of this. The girl's perfumes were rotting his brain.

"When I say you can," Mycroft replied taking a sip of the obviously spiked drinks.

"What if I just walk out?"

"I'll tell mummy," Mycroft grinned smugly. Sherlock didn't like to upset his mother and he also wanted that senior trip he was promised if he went to this stupid dance.

"I'm really starting not to care what she'll do." And he really wasn't. This was just another horrible event for him. He had next to no friends just this one guy named Bill. They rarely talked but sat next to each other in silence at lunch. Bill wasn't even here; his mother probably wouldn't force him to do this. Then there was Mycroft and his date. Clearly he would be spending most the night with her, leaving Sherlock alone. He was alone. No girl here would ask him to dance. He would die a lonely soul, not that he cared.

"Sherlock it's just a dance," Mycroft huffed.

"If it's just a dance why is it so important to you?" Sherlock undid his bowtie and let it hang around his neck like all the other fellows.

"Because for once in my life I have a bloody date. Not every girl was pinning after you. Just this once a girl wanted the other brother." The only reason girls ever wanted Sherlock was because of his looks. And because he was untouched. It's like a prize to them. Whoever sleeps with him first wins the game.

"Hmmmm, not true." Sherlock knew better than his brother.

Mycroft's face started turning red, "Don't you dare go ruin this for–"

Sherlock's smirk appeared, "Didn't you notice all the times she was ever over she would ask where I was, how she was so inquiring about my location. I've caught her more than once in the premises of my room, claiming she thought it was yours. Are you that blind brother? She's has been using you to get to me." He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. He liked this game called: ruin his brother's night. He knew that Mycroft had been hoping to get with the girl tonight.

"You spoil everything." His fists were clenched at his side, his eyes watching his girlfriend dance with her friends.

"I know." Sherlock smiled deviously. But soon the smile fell, his eyes had found a diamond. "Who's that," Sherlock said nudging his chin in her direction. There was a girl in a yellow strapless ball gown. Her brown hair was pulled up and back with some curls dangling down. Her cheek bones where high her lips where small. She was beautiful. Sherlock was stunned.

"Who?"

"Her." Sherlock repeated in a softer tone.

"I don't know, why do you care?" Mycroft was still angry about the news of his girlfriend to notice Sherlock's demeanor had changed.

"I don't care, I've just never seen her." Sherlock was trying to mask his feelings with no feelings at all.

Mycroft shrugged, "Someone probably brought her over from another school."

"Who would that be?" he wanted to know immediately who brought her here. He wanted to know who her boyfriend was.

"I don't know Sherlock, I don't know everything." He huffed.

"You're the eyes and ears of this place Mycroft, you know everything and everyone." Sherlock had hoped his brother knew her, because Sherlock so desperately wanted to.

"Well I don't know her." With that Mycroft walked away and left him to stand on his own.

….

The night was full under swing, the music had changed and so had the atmosphere. Nothing had changed for Sherlock though. He was standing alone. In the same spot as he was hours ago. He hadn't moved an inch.

"You look so alone." Sherlock turned his head to find the girl in the yellow dress. He was tempted to look her over to quickly figure her out. She looked even more stunning up close.

"Of course I'm alone, I don't have friends," He grumbled. Sherlock was used to being alone. It bothered him when people spoke to him.

"Did your date ditch you?" she asked still standing there smiling at him. Her smile was so sweet. So innocent, so…captivating.

"No."

"Oh." He saw her face fall. It looked genuine.

"I didn't have a date to begin with." He added. Her smile came back and her cheeks tinted slightly.

"Then would you like to dance with me?" she asked sweetly, turning her ankles slightly causing her dress to swish.

"I don't even know you." _But I want to_, he thought.

"And I don't know you." She countered, cocking her head to the side.

Sherlock grinned, so far he liked this girl, "Shocking, everyone knows me."

She put her hands on her hips, "I only know your name and what my boyfriend has told me."

Sherlock tried to hide his disappointment, she was here with a boyfriend, "Oh ya? And what would that be?"

"You're Sherlock. A brash, honest man who knows everything. Secrets aren't kept safe from you."

"I could figure out your secrets." He whispered leaning down closer to her.

"I've got nothing to hide, nothing important anyway." She whispered back eyes big.

He reached out and took a piece of her hair, "What would be your name, girl of no secrets?" he twirled it aimlessly around his finger. He figured after tonight he would no longer see this girl again so why not try out some flirting.

"Molly, Molly Hooper." She said smiling.

Sherlock, dropped her strand of hair then held out his hand for her, "Shall we dance?"

She placed her hand in his, "We shall."


	2. She has secrets

"John I'm bored," said Sherlock. And he was. It's a Saturday; there's nothing to do. With his most recent case solved and over he had nothing to do but wait for a text from someone whose name started with a 'G'.

John looked up from his morning paper, "Don't even think about shooting that wall again." John is one of Sherlock's friends, flat mates. He is a doctor and a mother figure to Sherlock because it seems he can never take care of himself.

"Well what else am I supposed to do?" Sherlock huffed. He lay on the couch in his blue robe staring at the ceiling trying g to decipher how old the plaster was.

"I don't know, go find a body and find the murderer." John was tired of trying to entertain Sherlock. If he could go out and do something on his own, John could have the flat to himself to relax for a while.

Sherlock's mind started working at the words 'find a body', "Right, I could find a body in an alley or-"

"Go to the morgue downtown." John grumbled.

"Anderson works there." Of all things in the world Sherlock could not stand Anderson.

"Then find something else to do." John got up and left for his own room upstairs. He clearly wanted to be by himself. So Sherlock got dressed and left for the morgue.

…..

Sherlock rushed into the morgue his excitement building; perhaps he would find something to occupy his mind for a few hours till he figured it out. Then he would call whatever his name is to go catch the guy. Sherlock was looking down at his coat as he unsnapped the buttons furiously walking at a rather swift pace around the corner.

Non one was looking where they were going; they both ended up colliding around the corner. Something hit Sherlock's chest and before the person could fall he put his hands on their waist to keep them in place.

"Oh sorry I didn't see you… Sherlock?" spoke a familiar voice. He glanced up to find a gorgeous woman standing before him. It was Molly, even after nearly 10 years he could tell it was the girl of no secrets. He assessed her quickly. She had _been_ the girl of no secrets. She had changed. Her hair was longer, she was thinner, paler. Something had happened. Not a death in the family something worse. He saw small faded bruises on her exposed neck. He immediately released his hands from her small waist, it was a boyfriend.

"That would be me." He said curtly. Looking down at her. He didn't want to see her. He had seen her in the dark of prom he had hoped she wouldn't be this stunning in the light.

Her smile only widened as she looked up at him. As if they were old friends. "Hi! I don't know if you reme-"

"Of course I remember you." He said cutting her off. He knew too much about her from one night and the last thirty seconds. He walked around her moving to the green double doors at the end of the hallway.

"You-you do?" she stuttered after him.

"You are Molly Hooper." He said over his shoulder as he pushed through the doors. There was no receptionist to stop him, it was Molly's job to but she didn't.

"Shocker." She whispered to herself, but Sherlock still heard. It stung slightly. For a girl like her to think him so low not to remember the one girl he ever danced with. But he took pride that she thought of him even a little.

"Is it?" he said with a quirk of his eyebrow. He quickened his pace down what seemed to be the never ending hall.

"I'm not the most memorable person." She said twirling a pen between her fingers. Still trailing after him.

"No I suppose you're not." She took a sharp breath at that. He knew it would burn her for him to say that. Her current boyfriend probably told her that every night before he hit her. He shivered internally at the image. Sherlock would take care of this problem later.

"Well, um, do you want to have coffee?" she said quietly. Oh how Sherlock wanted to say yes. He wanted to sweep her off her feet. He wanted to go out for coffee. But he couldn't let himself ruin what was left of her.

"Sure black two sugars, I'll be in the basement." He opened a door that led down to a cold stairwell that he knew led the bodies.

….

Molly walked away from the closing door with a small smile. She had never in all her life thought she would see him again. Her mind clung to the memory of prom as if it was her life line. She had fascinated about seeing him again. And now that she had she wanted to see him again. And again. She didn't want her eyes to ever leave the man. He intrigued her. Sherlock was what her heart had yearned for all these years.

She doesn't quite know why she went and talked to him that night anyway. She saw him all alone and she, being the good nice girl she was, didn't want him to be alone at senior prom. She had told her boyfriend, name long forgotten, that she wanted to go speak to him. As soon as she suggested the idea her boyfriend and the others started talking at once about how cruel he was, how he knew everything about everyone. Her boyfriend told her he was not to be spoken to. She didn't listen though.

She remembered every word he said how certain words rolled off his tongue how his accent made everything seem magical. Then when he danced with her. He didn't dance like the others, he had put one arm around her waist and held her other hand. He danced. They danced together. Through slow and fast songs, that's how they danced. She watched his eyes and he watched hers. He told her she was beautiful. And she felt it.

But the moment was all too soon interrupted. Her boyfriend tapped her shoulder and she let go of Sherlock. She had turned to talk to her boyfriend for a moment then turned back, to ask if he wanted to eat with her and her friends, but he was gone. Sherlock, the boy who knew everything had left. His final words to her were "You, girl of no secrets, are beautiful."

Now when she had bumped into him again she could see the man he grew to be. In the last 10 years he had changed, a lot. He was taller, _much_ taller. He was buffer, his shirt buttons stretching to the max. His legs were longer. He was so different now, not just his looks were different but his words.

Either her friends were right that night or something had changed in him. She hoped it was the later. She didn't want another cold hearted man in her life. She already had a few of those. Molly smiled to herself as she flipped through the pages on her clipboard. Things may be looking up.


	3. Authors Note

AN: As I have said before this is a completed work. I've spent the last couple months working on this so that I could work at my own pace and finish it so you all wouldn't have to wait. I have chosen the days some chapters will be released and what times they will be revealed. But I also do holiday chapters. Request a chapter idea or a holiday or both (I will also consider a POV change with a chapter idea request, but I may not do it in that specific POV)! I will write for any holiday, ANY. Even black Friday or national bacon day. If you find a holiday that you want a chapter posted on I will write a chapter adding to the story and post on that holiday. Chapters are not based on holiday if you want me to post on national bacon day I will but the chapter will not be about bacon. Once it is fully posted, as in the final chapter is posted, I will also do any other ideas left over that I liked.


	4. Green with Envy

"Good afternoon Sherlock." For the past few months, on most days of the week, Sherlock had arrived before her at work. Some days he would wait outside or somehow break the lock. Today he was waiting outside. Leaning against the wall with his coat undone, his scarf blowing about his shoulders. Even the simplest things made him look undeniably handsome.

"If you call it good Molly." Those simple words let her know he was not in a good mood. She blew out some air watching, it steam. Sometimes he was a bother at work. Like he would be today.

"I would say so. It's a Friday after all and I-"

"What the hell does a Friday have anything to do with a good afternoon?" He cut in. He took one look at her as she had approached and knew what she was so chipper about. Obviously by the way she was dressed so lovely today and the way she carried herself. He saw the folded lovers note in her hand and it frustrated him. He had been spending a few months at the morgue trying to be with her and to get away from things.

"Nothing much. Most people enjoy Fridays," she said softly as she unlocked the doors. He was quickly ushered in trying to keep the cold air out. It didn't really make a difference, the place was already cold and stayed like that most days.

"You, Miss Molly, have made the mistake of assuming I'm most people," he interjected. Her ever present smile faltered. He didn't want her to be happy with the idea of her activates that will be happening tonight.

"I'll see you later then." She mumbled and headed down the hallway to her office. Her flats scuffing the floor.

"Congratulations on your date by the way." He called to her. Even though it pained him to say it, he still wanted to see her happy, just not with whoever this guy was.

She slowly turned around to face him. "What?" He would have thought she would have been used to this by now. Him always figuring people out. But then again he tried not to use it on her because he didn't want to know all the horrible things that had happened to her.

"Your date Molly; you have a date tonight." _First one in a long time,_ he wanted to add. Sherlock had personally tracked down her last boyfriend and dug up every secret of his. He threatened him if he would not leave Molly. No less than a week later Molly was looking better. Sherlock was happy. He had saved her little heart from such a monster. He felt like a hero. Like he stood a real chance with her now that he had no competition. He could hardly call this new pitiful man competition anyway. She hadn't gone out since then. That was months ago. It was almost Christmas now.

"Oh um yes. That's what I wanted to tell you originally," she said, twiddling with her scarf tails. She had that adorable blush on. She must be thinking of him. _She should be thinking of me_.

"I never want to hear about your love life Molly Hooper. Good day." As soon as he saw her face he regretted the words, but they were true. He didn't want to hear her falling for another man. He whipped around and walked down the other corridor in search of the body George, or whatever his name is, wanted him to look at.

Molly was happy to be going out again. After her last affair she wanted someone who was kind and nice. She wanted Sherlock, but he was probably just like the last. The way he had just spoken to her clearly showed who he really was: a careless heartless bastard. How could she ever think he would return her feelings? She had hoped to have a good night and make him possibly jealous in the spare time. But all she did was make him annoyed. Now she didn't want to go out with Jim tonight.

She gripped her scarf tightly as she walked into her office and saw the pile of work on her desk. All the bodies she had to take care of. _If only someone one could take care of mine_, she thought. _If only it could be Sherlock_.

AN: So sorry for the short chapter, this is the shortest one. But I promise you the next 3 chapters are rather long and… interesting. The bonus chapter for thanksgiving is also complete, brace yourselves ;)


	5. I need that Body

(AN: Sorry it's late, blame my editor… and SPN.)

Sherlock had just woken up with a headache from the pounding music he had shoved in his ear last night. It was the only way to not focus on her and her date. He was sure she had enjoyed it and had let him stay the night.

"Greg called,," John said breaking his daze.

"Who?" for the life of him, Sherlock knew not who this Greg guy ever was.

"The guy who works down at the station… you text him every day…You know what never mind. He said to go to the morgue and get body #337." John was sitting at the table, drinking tea and already dressed to the nines. Sherlock knew something was up. Perhaps John had a date too. As Sherlock sat down across from him he smelled the cologne, John was most definitely going on a date.

"I'm not his lap dog," He grumbled. Sherlock didn't want to do anything today. Especially if it involved the morgue.

"Yeah well we both know you'll still go down there." John was right

"Just to spite him I think I'll stay." Sherlock was only joking but he would go down there, even if he didn't want to.

"Oh I know that look. There's something else isn't there?" John sat down his cup and stared at Sherlock. Even if they weren't the best of friends John could still read Sherlock more than most.

"No of course not." He stared ahead at the skull on his mantle.

John leaned back and crossed his arms. "Is it Molly?"

"Oh shut up," Sherlock spat. Not everything was about Molly, but really it was.

"Isn't she going out with that guy, Jim?" John said smiling. He knew now what would make Sherlock tick, which meant others would know too.

"Yes she is." He mumbled. Now that he knew a name he could look into him.

"Can you just get over whatever this is and go down there." John was happy to see Sherlock acting human for once.

"Why do you want me out so bad?" now it was Sherlock's time to figure things out. He was going on a date but what if…

"Because Sarah's coming round." He said bashfully looking down at the table.

Sherlock's eyes widened, "Then I'll be off." He immediately got up and went to get dressed, in his purple button up and usual attire.

…

"Give me Body #337." Molly squeaked in surprise as she looked up from her work. She didn't know Sherlock had come in. Even in his clacky dress shoes he always wore, he was still silent.

"Sorry, can't," She said, looking back down to her work. She was annoyed with Sherlock right now. Plus, she was busy. She had several bodies to examine today.

"Then I'll get it myself." He said turning around and heading for the door.

"No Sherlock don't-" she said getting up to go stop him.

"I need that body." He hissed. Sherlock was annoyed with Molly. She always gave him what he wanted. But deep down he liked the defying Molly, the one who was angry and feisty, bold and strong. He needed something to do. He didn't want to be here with her.

"Well you can't have it," She said crossing her arms, pushing up her breasts in her surprisingly low cleavage. His mind was filled with images he had never dared to see before. Their bodies clashing. Her under him. Holding her against a wall. He felt his stomach drop. He needs to turn his mind in another direction or it would show. She's probably just dressing like this for Jim.

"What is the matter with you?" he spat. Now that he knew why she was dressing like this, he was pissed.

Her face looked shocked. "Nothing-"

"Date didn't go as planned?" he said steeping closer his head tilted. It was a guess.

"Just stop, go home," She turned away from him and went back behind her desk. He smiled, the date was a fail. She didn't have a good night. When she turned around to get files from a cabinet he saw her shorter-than-normal pencil skirt. Was she purposely trying to kill him?

"No," he said lowly. He meant it as a no he wouldn't leave but it in his head it came out as 'no I'm going to fuck you senseless.'

She whipped around, causing her hair to fall across her shoulders, "Do you always have to be so...so..." her eyes glared at him as she scrabbled for words.

"So what Molly?" he said resting his knuckles on her desk so that he was at her standing height.

"So rude!" she shouted.

"Not always." He said cocking his head. He would not deny it; he wanted her right now.

"You might as well be. Always making demands and pushing people's buttons." She said pushing her fingers through her loose hair. Sherlock's eyes locked onto that movement, she had her hair down today. He scanned her up and down; she was a sex symbol. Why? Maybe even if the date fell out, she still wanted to fuck Jim.

"Pray tell Miss Hooper, do I push your buttons?" he said narrowing his eyes at her.

"It's like you beat them into the ground," She hissed, sitting down massaging her forehead.

"Oh," Was all he could manage. He knew he upset her just never this much.

"Yes 'oh'. Now if you don't mind, I need to work," She said still caressing her forehead. He watched her slender fingers. Why is she so perfect?

"I still need that body." He said stepping back again to the door.

"Maybe if you asked nicely and aren't demanding you'll get it."

"Oh, come on. Do you want me to beg?" he looked at her, really looked at her. She looked exhausted. She didn't want to deal with him. Well that's just too bad.

"Yes actually" she said smiling kicking her feet up on the desk. He saw the long, black heels.

"Just give me the body." He said through clenched teeth. He needed to leave or things would happen that she doesn't want.

"No, see you later." She waved her hand then picked up a folder

"Molly-"

"I said no, Sherlock." She was giving him her full on death glare.

So he left. As he walked away all he could see was her bare legs in that skirt and those dammed heels.

…..

Molly had to go check on the tests for one of the bodies, she dreaded the heels she wore, she hated the distance from her office to the lab in the basement. The only reason she wore them was to see if Sherlock would take interest in her. She read it in a magazine that dressing for sex would get your man's attention. She wasn't sure if it worked.

She stopped dead in her tracks. At the end of the hallway, just before the yellow door for room 4 was, Sherlock and one of the interns… having sex. Her skirt was hiked up while Sherlock had her pressed on a wall. Both were making sounds of ecstasy. His head was buried in her neck as she clawed at his back; her long razor nails were going to rip the fabric. Molly gasped loudly, the image fully sinking in.

"Oh, Molly, hello," Sherlock said in surprise. His voice was lower and his eyes were glistening. The intern slipped down and off him. She patted down her skirt and turned into Sherlock's chest.

"What the hell are you doing!" Molly shouted. Just as Sherlock zipped his pants and buttoned his shirt. She caught a glimpse of his bare chest so smooth and divine. She mentally slapped herself; she was not to think those things.

"Intercourse. What's it look like?" He said sarcastically as he reached for his discarded coat and scarf on the floor.

"Get out!" she shouted at Sherlock. Then she pointed at the intern, "You, your fired!"

"But ma'am I was-" she tried to interject.

"FIRED!" Molly roared. The interne scrambled away down the hallway crying.

"No need to yell Molly." He ran his fingers through his hair.

"Why the hell are you screwing my employee here?!" Molly was sheathed in rage. How dare he screw around in her building with her employee when she liked him.

"I told you I needed the body," He said, rolling down his sleeves and pinning his button cuffs.

"So you had to screw her over to get in?" Molly was done with him. Absolutely hated him.

"Yes, that was her price," Sherlock couldn't look at her. He couldn't see the rage and hate surly in her eyes.

"Unbelievable" she murmured then threw down her clipboard and folders. His eyes widened, that seemed a bit over reactive to him.

"Sorry but it was the only way in." he said. It really wasn't. She said she would let him in if he did and it got his mind off of Molly.

"I'm sure you could have just unlocked the door." She hissed walking closer to him her heels were stabbing the ground angrily.

"But where's the fun in that?" He said finally looking at her. She looked hot when she was pissed. Her rage was overflowing.

"Get out Sherlock." Her voice was one of defeat.

"I just need-" he started to say.

"I don't give a damn. Get out now and find a new morgue to hang out at." She hissed trying to push past him.

Now or never he thought.

He grabbed her wrists and pushed her on the wall with her hands above her head. "Let's have dinner?" his eyes trailed over her body pressed between his and the wall. Her shirt had lifted showing her smooth navel.

Her eyes were wide with shock. He was holding her in a compromising position, one that she was okay with. Sherlock leaned down his breath fanning over her lips, "Dinner? Tonight?" His eyes churning like the sea pulling her under the waves.

She couldn't speak. Did she want to have dinner with this asshat? Yes. She strained her wrists in his grasp he tutted his tongue and grinned down on her. He was the man she had wanted for so long and now he was offering himself to her for dinner. She only nodded her head and he rewarded her with a kiss on the corner of her mouth. "Till then, Molly Hooper." He went after that. Popped his coat collar and left. She could still feel his thighs pressed on hers and the softness of his lips.

Molly stood there on the wall her hands over her heart. How could she change so quickly. One minute she was sheathing with rage the next she was saying yes to a date with Sherlock. He always affected her like that. Still trying to regain her composure she picked up the papers she had thrown on the ground in frustration. She had thought he didn't like her, maybe the only reason he ever came here was for her interne. Her mind was a jumble of ideas. Maybe he did like her. If he did why would he fuck that girl right in front of her then minutes later ask her out. Why had she said yes?

Molly had no idea why she does what she does. She had no idea why Sherlock does what he does.


	6. The Girl Who Counted: Thanksgiving Bonus

AN: This chapter is the holiday special chapter. Holiday chapters are done by requests. You can request a holiday and a chapter idea. The Thanksgiving request winner is Icecat62 who wanted to know how Sherlock disposed Molly's (ex) boyfriend. I mentioned very little of how he did it in chapter 3, Green With Envy, so I give you a more detailed version with some bonus info on Molly. Happy Holidays.

AN: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE UPLOADED YESTERDAY SO THAT YOU ALL COULD HAVE A THANKSGIVING PRESENT FROM ME. BUT I DIDN'T HAVE INTERNET SO I GAVE THE INFO TO MY BETA AND SHE COULDN'T GET IN SO HERE WE ARE. 1. DAY. LATE.

…

Sherlock stood in the viewing area above one of the morgue rooms where he watched Molly work. She was cutting a thin line straight down a middle aged man's chest. Sometimes it's hard for him to believe that such a sweet girl, like her, would choose such a gruesome job as a way of life. But when he dug deeper he could see why she chose this.

_It's been a week and it still hasn't faded,_ he thought angrily. Just under her shirt sleeve was a slightly purple bruise that wrapped around her upper arm. Perhaps she thought no one would notice. Her white blouse sleeves were slightly too short to cover her entire upper arm, a detail she had overlooked when she dressed. It had bothered him the moment he saw it today. How desperately he wanted it to disappear. Once it was gone there would be nothing left behind from her ex-boyfriend.

She had waltzed into work last week with the sad face she wore some days more than most. Her hair was braided to the side and she looked youthful but frightened. Sherlock knew something was wrong, and he had a good idea about what that would be. He wished he could do something about it, but it wasn't his place to intervene.

"Morning," she said softly slipping off her coat and placing it on her chair. Normally she would scold Sherlock for breaking into her office. But when she was like this, her mind was preoccupied. He didn't want her to worry about such things. He never quite knew what she was thinking, but whatever it was it was horrible. Her eyes showed that much, her dull eyes that broke his heart.

She turned to her filing cabinet and opened it. That's when he caught sight of the slightly dark spot on her sleeve, then he noticed it wasn't a stain but a bruise. It seemed to stand out even darker the more he looked at it. His vision was turning red. He would kill whoever hurt his Molly. Such a dear sweet girl. She was his, no one else's; they couldn't take what was his.

His thoughts were drenched in cold water once he realized she would never be his and he could never have her. He would ruin her. Her soul would die. She would die.

"You okay?" Molly's soft quite voice broke his thinking.

"I should be asking you the same thing, Miss Hooper." He watched her closely as she placed her shaking fingers under the desk.

"I'm fine, Sherlock. Now go; let me get to work." Her eyes averted from his and down to the notepad in front of her.

"You stopped didn't you." Sherlock grew weary; if she answered yes he would be broken.

"Stopped what?" she asked not looking up from her papers.

"The pills. You stopped." Those were her only defense. His hands clenched the chairs arm rests he was sitting in.

She froze where she sat. "How did you know?" Her breath passed her lips in a quiver.

"Dammit Molly," he hissed. He stood and walked around the desk to her side. She watched him closely as he knelt down next to her chair. His mass height still made him taller than her. He reached out and took her hands in his. "You can't Molly. You know that."

She started shaking slightly; her lower lip was quivering. "Sherlock I..."

Sherlock was showing compassion. He cared for Molly's life more than anyone would ever know. "Why would you-" he stopped mid-sentence when he realized it.

His hands grew tighter on her cold ones. "Tell me his name."

She shivered as a tear slipped from her eye. "I can't-"

"A name, Molly. Give me a name." he growled.

More tears slipped down her check. "He said that-"

"It's lies Molly, it's all lies. That bastard wants you to feel weak and broken, but I won't let him. Give me his name!" He shouted with anger. That man had fed her lies, telling her she wasn't perfect if she took the depression pills. Her boyfriend hated her taking them. Sherlock hated the fact that she had to. If only he could have helped her.

"Jason Karo," she sniffled.

Sherlock leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her. Now that he had a name he could help her. He would destroy the man that hurt her he would make everything better. He rubbed his hands in soothing circles on her back while she cried. The whole time he murmured sweet nothings into her hair.

After all the tears had been shed, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "I will make things better for you."

"Why?" She sniffled into his chest. Her slim arms wrapped around him. He liked having her arms warped around him. He felt secure and maybe one day she would be there to pick up his pieces as he is now.

"Because I don't want to see you like this." Secretly he loved Molly no matter how hard he denied it. It wasn't his nature to care, to love to feel anything towards anyone. But he knew what he felt for Molly was love.

"I don't count." She murmured into his chest.

His heart clenched at her words. This wasn't her talking it had to be the depression. She must have been of the anti-depressants for a few days now. He yanked on her shoulder and made her look at him, "You've always counted, you've always mattered." He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her cheek and murmured, "You count to me."

Sherlock left after that to go find this man. He called a man who worked at the department and demanded he find a man by the name Jason Karo. Sure enough he popped up for assault and rape. Immediately Sherlock hailed a cab for the apartment that Molly and Karo shared. This would be swift and this would be messy.

He broke down the door but didn't worry about finding an easily woken man with a gun. Inside he saw the hell Molly must live. Why she stayed he did not know. The curtains were drawn the floor was littered with things, and there were ripped clothes in some places. Sherlock recognized them as Molly's clothes.

He walked about the flat until he found the guy. He was passed out, lying on a rumpled bed with an empty bottle of Jack lying on the floor.

He sighed and went back to the kitchen to prepare a pot of boiling water. As it boiled he looked in the cabinets searching for the pills Molly takes. Once he found them he pocketed them for her. When the pot was done, he carried it with oven mits to the room and threw the whole thing on the man. He jumped up screaming; his blonde hair frying to his face. His skin started burning up, the smell emitted from burning flesh was horrid

Sherlock slipped off the mits and threw them aside. "Good afternoon, Mr. Karo."

The man was rolling around in bed in just his boxers hissing and near screaming in pain. His skin a brilliant red and his eyes were shut and burning. A site Sherlock would remember.

"What the hell?!" Karo roared.

"Yes, what the _hell_ indeed." Sherlock approached the man with his gun hidden under his cloak.

"I'm calling the cops," he said, standing up. He was wincing at the pain coming from his body. Sherlock could tell the man was trying not to scream, if he did he would be shot.

Sherlock gripped his burned wrist and twisted it behind his back pushing him down on the bed, "You will do no such thing unless you want to get arrested."

The man stopped fighting Sherlock. No doubt his clothes rubbing on his seared flesh was very painful.

"I know who you are Mr. Karo and I know what you've done and what you're _doing_." Sherlock twisted his wrist farther. "Now listen and listen well you heartless bastard. You are going to leave this place and Molly and never return. Or so help me I will be the one to put a bullet in your brain not the man whose daughter you raped years ago." For a sure result he would leave Sherlock pulled the man's arm at an impossible angle causing Jason to scream into the pillow.

"I'll go, I'll go!" he shouted.

Sherlock knew he would. He removed himself from the man and left the apartment. He went back to the morgue and placed the pills on Molly's desk. She should find them when she returned from downstairs.

Sherlock had his brother, Mycroft, take some precautions. He asked him to set up security for Molly. He wanted her protected at all times now. His brother agreed if Sherlock promised to help him one day with a mission. Sherlock would do anything for his dear sweet Molly. Now only a week later, she was back on the medication; she was smiling more and obviously happier. Sherlock was more at ease knowing the man would never return and harm his Molly. Now, if only the bruise would go away.


	7. Purple Shirt of Sex

AN: Please forgive me in advance; this is my first smutt, my editor felt uncomfortable so I didn't have her edit the last part. So not only is it my first but its unedited.

Sherlock had picked her up from work. He was waiting outside in the cab, watching her lock the doors. Her face was frowning; she looked disappointed. Until her eyes found Sherlock's behind a rolled down cab window. She smiled slightly and her face lightened a little. She had thought Sherlock had abandoned her; that it was all a joke.

She hadn't bothered to change; she thought this outfit would be perfect for a date, especially for the man she originally dressed up for. When she got in, she saw Sherlock hadn't changed either. Why did he have to wear that shirt? It had to be the smallest size he could fit in. The buttons looked ready to pop and that shade of purple just does things to her.

…..

"Are we just not going to say anything to each other then?" She asked quietly from across the center piece. They had ridden in the cab in silence now they were eating dinner in silence. Sherlock never did these things, so he had no idea what to do. Molly had no idea what to say around Sherlock, so she didn't know what to do either. The whole situation felt awkward.

"What's there to say?" Sherlock asked, resting his head on his knuckles. There was so much Sherlock wanted to say but he didn't know quite how with Molly. This was Molly for Christ's sake; he should be able to say anything in front of her.

"Oh I don't know; you're the one who wanted to take me out." She said sarcastically. Sherlock took notice how she was out of her shell. She hasn't been stuttering or clumsy in days. She hasn't been playing with her scarf like she always does. Something must have happened. She was harder; even a little colder then he remembered. Her smile was weaker. What tragedy had happened a week ago?

"I wanted to buy you dinner as an apology for fucking your intern," he said, rubbing his hand on his thigh. He could feel her shoe hit his knee every time she bounced her crossed leg to the beat of the invisible music in her head.

"It's not accepted." She was staring out the window watching the darkened streets bustle with people. Maybe he had misread Molly. Maybe she doesn't like him the way he likes her. Perhaps he had taken her to the wrong place. He had taken her to a small town dinner a short distance from her house in case she wanted to flee.

And flee she did. She sighed, stood up and started slipping on her coat. "Where are you going?" Sherlock asked reaching for his own coat.

"I thought this was a date. As in when two people who like each other go out and have fun." She said harshly, then turned and left out the door. Sherlock threw down some bills and ran after her.

"Are you implying-"

She stopped in the street, glared at him over her shoulder, and said, "I wasn't implying anything because you're a heartless bastard who doesn't care." She turned back around and stormed down the street. She was doing what Molly does best: run.

Sherlock loved her words, it's the first time she ever spoke true honest angered words to him. He was turned on by the way she said them so ferociously. "Come back here Molly," He called, chasing after her. His voice was dark with this newfound lust.

"No, good night," she said just as he caught up to her.

"Would you rather I talk to you and chase you all the way home?" He asked with a smirk plastered on his face.

"What's to fret? I bet you already know where I live," She snarked, wrapping her scarf around her wrist again. She was jittering; she was playing with her scarf again. She was nervous, why?

"I'll look like a fool babbling after you as you just try and prance away in those God-smashing heels," He said, walking backwards and facing her.

She stumbled a bit, but kept walking. "What?" She was taken aback by his words.

"Your shoes make your legs look nice and sexy." Sherlock figured it was the best time to speak truthfully. He had seen the empty bottle of wine in the trash beside her desk. She was slightly tipsy and full of anger. Perhaps she would wake up and not remember. Deep down, he knew she would. She hadn't drunk that much; Sherlock just wanted an excuse.

"Go away," She said softly, wrapping her arms around herself. Sherlock saw the shine her eye; tears.

"Why?" he asked a bit softer, walking in step with her.

"Because you shouldn't pay girls like me complements if you don't mean them," She said, tucking her chin to her chest. Sherlock didn't like where her head was going. It was headed somewhere low. Sherlock had looked into the many things that had happened to Molly in the past 10 years. One of them was depression. He saw that she still fought it day to day and he knew he wasn't helping her get over it.

Sherlock wanted her to know that she was special; that she was beautiful. "Oh, I mean every word. Today, the way you were dressed, it's like you were asking for sex." He said as his fingers brushed across her elbow. He doubted those words made her feel special, then again he was never good at this.

"And so what if I was?! It's none of your business!" She shouted at him and began walking faster. Her shoes clanking her hair swishing on her shoulders

So she was dressing for someone. Sherlock began thinking all the possibilities. "Then the question is who you were dressing for? Jim works upstairs and I doubt you would dress like that for a man you may see for only five minutes. So, you wanted him to see you all day to torture him. All the other guys in the department are old, married, or dead. So the only person who-" it hit him like lighting.

"Is it that wrong of me to wish for something so simple?" she said her lip quivering.

Sherlock grabbed her wrist stopping her from climbing the steps to her flat door. "Oh God Molly, me?" He was stunned, to think she wanted him, perhaps just as much as he wanted her. To think she dressed like this to get his attention when she's had it all along "You wanted me…" for the first time in forever, he was speechless.

"Yes, Sherlock, this was for you, but clearly you didn't notice." She broke from his grasp and went to unlock the door. She was sniffling as she fumbled with the keys. Sherlock broke from his daze just as she got the door open. He scrambled up the steps after her.

"Oh, I noticed," he said as he grabbed her by the waist. He pulled her to him and through the open door. Then he kicked it shut with his foot.

Molly gasped at the sudden movement. He put his strong hand on the back of her head and dragged her face to his. He had to stoop down so that his lips could be graced with hers. As soon as her soft lips touched his, his eyes closed as did hers. She reached up and clutched his hair. It was sensitive, but she didn't know that. He whimpered when she clutched the hair on the nape of his neck. She smiled into the kiss.

Sherlock could have sworn he was dreaming. This was so surreal. She gripped the front of his shirt and stumbled backwards her heels hitting the bottom step. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her to catch her from falling. Both of them giggled like idiots.

"Tell me you want this," He whispered, his forehead resting on hers, breaths mixing.

"I want this," she said breathlessly, Sherlock watched the words fall from her swollen lips. "I want this," she said again. Then she pushed her hands under Sherlock's coat slipping it off his shoulders and onto the floor. Sherlock grinned then leaned down to kiss her throat. Her neck was so warm right where her pulse gushed. He kissed her skin as his hands worked down the front of her jacket, unzipping it. The he pulled it down her arms. It fell on the steps next to his coat.

Molly was clutching at Sherlock trying to get closer. She wanted more; lots more. She gripped his lower back as she pressed her front on him. She felt how hard he was and sighed. She kissed the small area of exposed skin on his chest. "Take me upstairs," she whispered.

Sherlock slipped his hand under her buttocks and lifted her. Her skirt had to bunch around her waist so that her legs could wrap around him, but neither one seemed to care. Sherlock could feel her warmth radiating on his cock, even through the layers of fabric. It drove him wild. He began walking up the stairs kissing her and stripping themselves of things. By the time they reached the top, the stairs were littered with clothes. His jacket, her heels. His scarf, his shoes, her chance of denying this.

Once inside the door she had directed him towards between her nips at his ear, he set her down and pressed her against the wall. He bent down then to recapture her lips. Both fought for dominance; tongues fought, teeth clashed. His hands slid down to her hips, pressing her firmly to his lower abdomen. She moaned into the kiss he took this chance to tilt her chin higher and let his tongue explore deeper.

Her fingers fumble with his shirt buttons, failing to undo them. She let out a frustrated groan then just grips his shirt and yanks until the buttons pop and skitter across the carpet.

"Miss Molly, you owe me a new shirt," Her growls in her ear as he grasps her ass.

"Fuck your shirt," She hisses back. Their lips meet again and tangle. His tongue plunges into her mouth as her own seeks out his. He pulls from the searing kiss to trail butterfly kisses down her neck. He nudges his head under her chin trying to get better access to her shoulder and neck. She tilts her head back gasping as her fingers slid over his bare chest

He kisses back up to her ear and bites her earlobe aggressively. "And to think, you were here to fuck me." He slid his hands up from her hips to underneath the back of her blouse and unclipped her bra. He spread his fingers wide on her bare back, relinquishing in the feel of her skin.

"Just shut up for five seconds," she rumbles, pushing down on his shirt so that it rests on his elbows. His fingers wisp down the front of her blouse, undoing the buttons smoothly. Then he pushes it down her arms and, finally, off her, letting it drop.

He smirks into her neck. "For only five?" he kisses her just below the ear, as he hears her sigh of frustration. He removes his hands from her to let his shirt slide down. Immediately her fingers move from his neck to his biceps.

"You know what I mean, Sherlock," She sighs as his fingers gently pull down her bra; his knuckles just barely brush her hardened nipples. He dipped his head down to capture one in his mouth. Rolling it over his tongue, sucking the soft skin of her breasts he had dreamed of touching just this morning.

"I take pleasure in aggravating you," he whispered as he kissed down her stomach to the hem of her skirt where he popped the button with his teeth. Her hand clutched at his hair, dragging him back up. "You become bossy and unbelievably sexy." He kissed her lips lightly. "I like it."

She smiled, then leaned forward and kissed his chest. "Can you please just take me now?"

He looked into her doe eyes and knew he was hooked forever. His mind worked on one track, Molly, Molly, _Molly_.

He bent down and picked her up bridal style. "As you wish."

Her legs were swung over his arm, her arms wrapped around his bare shoulders. He loved having her in his arms where he knew she was safe. She giggled as she placed wet kisses down his neck, causing Sherlock to groan.

He placed her gently on her back on her bed. He hovered above her just watching her. The way her brown eyes traced over his face. He took in her soft, swollen lips. Sherlock admired her cheekbones, her jaw, he admired everything about her.

Molly reached out a hand and traced her fingers lightly over his hairline. Her small fingers moved down his fingers leaving trails of ice as they skimmed over his shoulders and down his back. Her palms flowed over his shoulder blades, mapping his pale skin. She wanted to memorize how he felt; she doubted they would be in this same position for a long time. Her hands moved from his back to his ass and gripped, hard, yanking him down on top of her. Their little moment was over; it was time to get the prize.

His lips feel upon hers, he swallowed her gasps as his hands moved their way down her body. He gripped her skirt, tugging it down her body along with her panties. She now lay bare before him. She squirmed under his gaze and gripped the bed sheets. He took in her creamy skin, scattered with small little nicks, marks on her body he would cherish. He bent down and placed a kiss on her abdomen above her naval. He will cherish every aspect of her.

Molly reached for his pants, which he quickly ripped the buckle from and unzipped. Her hands sunk into his pants and gripped him. Sherlock moaned her name as she stroked him. He rested on his elbows kissing her shoulder and sighing with each stroke and tug.

"More," she murmured into his ear.

Sherlock stripped of his slacks, drawing out every movement just to watch her squirm before throwing them off the bed.

"You anticipated bedding me?" Molly raised a delicate eyebrow before reaching for his hands.

"A mere dream." Sherlock lowered his body down upon hers. He placed a gentle reassuring kiss on her lips before pulling back down on his elbows. Now his dream was coming true.

Molly swung a leg over his back side urging him on. With ease he obliged. As he looked deep into her eyes he slowly entered her. Her lips parted and her head tilted back. She was not a virgin but had the same damn feel as one.

The night became filled with gasps, moans and unmentionable words. Full of touching, grasping, holding and biting. Covers were removed, curtains were drawn. Screams and names echoed across the darkness and into the early morning hours.


	8. Damn Well

AN: The end is near! Lock your doors and hide your feels.

Sherlock had woken before Molly, just as he had intended. She was still asleep on her side, facing him. Her hair was a scattered silk mess on her pillow; her lips red and swollen and her neck had some bite marks, too. He smiled knowing he left them there for all the world to see. He reached out and ran his fingers over her cheek. Oh, how he wanted to stay, but he couldn't. He didn't want her to wake him up then demand for him to get out. She would most likely regret last night.

He got out from under the blanket and placed it higher on Molly's body. It was cold as hell but they had kept warm last night. He dressed himself quickly, but left his purple shirt on a chair, with all the buttons sitting on top of the folded fabric. He looked up at her dresser and noticed a box with green wrapping. On it was a tag that read "Sherlock". She had gotten him a present for Christmas. He wondered what it was, but didn't focus on it. He slipped on his jacket then kissed her nose before he slipped out the door.

On the stairs were his shoes, her shoes, and his coat. He put her shoes outside her door, slipped on his own, and buttoned his coat. He flatted down his sex hair in the hallway mirror, then flipped his coat collar and left his dear, sweet Molly.

…..

It had been days since he had seen Molly. He had purposely avoided the morgue and her calls. He was afraid of what she would say to him. He would rather live the rest of his life without her remembering her voice and her skin from that night. His last memory of her would not be her yelling at him for taking advantage of her subtle drunk stupor.

"Why is Molly calling me?" John walked into the living room with his cell in his hand.

"I don't know." Sherlock continued to stare at the ceiling thinking about that night over and over.

"Yes you do, stop being an ass and talk to her." John sat down across from him.

"I can't John," Sherlock mumbled, hoping John wouldn't hear. Sherlock can do anything but talk to Molly. Not today.

"Oh shut up, you talk to annoy people so don't tell me you won't talk to her." Sherlock looked at John and noticed his pissed face. John knew how Sherlock treated people but just flat out ignoring someone, especially Molly, probably seemed like a new low in John's eyes.

"But what if she-"

"Wait, you care what she thinks about you?" John leaned forward, a grin spreading across his face. Sherlock didn't care about anyone; his heart was to cold, but he had a fire burning for Molly and Molly alone.

"Yes, dammit, I do," Sherlock shouted punching his thigh.

"Well you're not making a good impression by ignoring her."

"I don't know what to do." He clutched his hair tight, wanting to feel the pain and her fingers doing the tugging.

"Just call her," John sighed, exasperated.

Sherlock felt like his head was going to explode if he received anymore dating lessons from John. He got up and threw on his scarf and coat; he had to go to the pier, even if it was so frigied and cold. "I'm going out, catch you later."

…

Sherlock was standing at the end of the pier above the freezing, ice cold water, with the wind slicing his razor sharp cheek bones. "Did it mean nothing to you?" her soft voice broke the desolate silence.

"What? Molly? What are you doing here?" She was standing a few yards away scarf clutched in a death grip by those delicate fingers.

"Did it mean nothing to you?" She shouted. Her eyebrows were knitted together and her stance was one of pure, uncontrollable hatred.

"Could you be any more specific?" Sherlock knew what she was talking about. He just wanted to avoid it. Maybe for little longer he could cling to the memory of his sweet bliss with her under him, crying his name.

"We had sex," she said stopping closer. Her boots hitting the planks in frustrated steps. "You won't even call me," her voice cracked.

He licked his lips and looked down on her, "Am I supposed to call?"

Molly slapped him, hard. "You know damn well you're supposed to." She hissed. Sherlock rotated his neck around to face her again. His cheek stung and would be bright red, with her fingers imprinted on his face, for a while.

"Molly it's just-"

She slapped his other cheek; his neck would snap with more of her strangely powerful slaps, "Don't! Because it wasn't just sex, it never was." She pointed a finger at him, her knuckles white. If she didn't have such splined self-control he was sure she would have punched his cheek bones in.

He started again, wishing her to calm down. "Come on-"

She shoved his chest hard, "I woke up alone Sherlock! I felt used. I haven't seen you in days and you haven't called so what else am I supposed to think!?" clearly, she wouldn't care if others could hear. Even if they were alone on this dock, the queen still could have heard.

"If you think I would use you, you are wrong. If anything I protect you from men who want to use you." He reached out and grabbed her shaking hands; her ice cold hands.

"What the hell are you talking about?" She said, not trying to pull from his grip.

"Remember your last boyfriend? He didn't just up and out I had to make him leave. I had to hold a gun to his head because if he fucking lays a hand on you I would have shot him." As he spoke, his words he laced his fingers through hers.

But she drew away, stepping back. "Why… why would you do that for me?"

"Because you don't deserve to be used or treated like that." She stood silently watching him as he turned round. He went down on his heels then swung his legs over the dock letting his feet dangle. He was angry and there was much more she couldn't read. Reading Sherlock's emotion and mental state was like reading Arabic.

She stood behind him, not ready to leave. She didn't want to leave him like this. One never knows what he will do. She fidgeted with the tassels on her scarf, something she does whenever she doesn't know quite what to do.

"Why are you still here?" His voice rumbled through the uncomfortable silence.

"Well, you see I just-"

"Don't you have any friends to talk to?" He said gruffly.

She wrapped the scarf end around her wrist. "I thought we were friends." Molly didn't know quite how to go about this situation. Especially after what he just said to her.

"We are not friends, I don't have friends," he accused. Molly could tell he was still angry. Her presence probably wasn't helping, but she couldn't bring herself to walk away. Not yet. Not when she wanted to say so much.

"I-"

"Friends are supposed to be nice to each other," he mumbled as he flipped his coat collar up against the wind. It was a chilly night on the pier. Sherlock came here many nights to be alone. Trying to escape everyone, even himself. Yet Molly found him. Of all people, it had to be her.

"I am nice to you."

"But I'm not nice to you Molly!" He finally turned his head to look at her. "I treat you like your nothing but your still here." He turned back to the water and swung his legs above the calm sea like a child.

She took a step closer to him. "It's because-"

"Oh for fucks sake!" He shouted. This was beyond normal for Sherlock. Molly had never seen him this way before. She was not meant to be here. In fact she was terrified to be here. She had thrown away all reasons why she had come in the first place.

She gripped her scarf tassels tightly. "I'll be going then."

"No, Molly, wait." Sherlock rose from sitting to his full height, towering over her. His face was not outraged; now it was just pure sadness. An emotion Sherlock never wears.

"Why?" She whispered, "Clearly you don't want me." She sniffled then turned her back to begin walking away.

"I love you Molly Hooper," he shouted down the dock.

Molly froze. Her back to him. A million different emotions were rushing through her. Was this a trick? Is it true? Is this a dream? She turned to him. "W-what?" She stuttered.

"The sound of your voice. The way you play with the ends of your scarf when you're jittery. Your legs. Your eyes. How you always apologize. How you're always here for me, no matter how hard I push you away. And God dammnit Molly every time I look at you I just want to fuck you." As he spoke, he had been closing in on Molly's frozen figure. Now, he stood a breath away. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her.

"Sherlock…" She was frightened and delighted.

He reached up and brushed his knuckles over her cheek. She shivered under his touch and she tried to tell her pounding heart it was from the cold. She looked into his eyes. For once, he looked young. As if he was okay. But inside Sherlock was far from okay. He felt fear, rejection and more coursing through his blood. Ever since when they first met at the senior prom, he had fallen for this girl. He wanted her. Wanted to be with her. He wanted everything to do with or involve her. For years his heart had stumbled along. Till now, when he was sure he loved her. That it would always be her.

He knew he had no right to love her. That he had no right to touch her. From all the times he has hurt her. After everything he has said and done. He couldn't help himself. She was just too perfect to him. She was Molly. And Molly was his heart, beating erratically against his ribs.

Molly's mind racked for things to say. Should she confess? Should she run? Should she just do nothing at all? She stared deep into his eyes so full of promise and love. She looked upon the man she had given up so much for. The man she loved. Does she want to love him though?

A large gust of wind blew through them causing her scarf ends to blow through her slack fingers. The long piece of fabric completely blew off her neck and into the waves. She didn't move, she just watched it float away.

Sherlock took off his scarf and wound it around her neck. His fingers brushed over her warm skin. The tips of his fingers just lightly touched the skin under her chin as he tied it. He liked the idea of her with his scarf.

That simple touch broke Molly from her trance. "I have to go," she said, stepping backwards from him.

"No, please Molly, just-" he reached out for her, but she was already turning to walk away.

"I have to go," she said turning her head over her shoulder to look at him.

"Please Molly," he said; his voice just above a whisper.

"Good-bye Sherlock," She called, not turning around this time.

He watched her go until he could no longer see her. He felt hurt. Why did that good-bye feel like the last good-bye? It felt so final. He never knew that Molly Hooper was capable of breaking hearts, especially his. He was positive she had felt the same. All those stolen moments in time. Those simple touches, the looks she gave him. The one night they shared. The Christmas present. Yet he was wrong. He could not deduce her love.

As Molly walked away, she clutched her jacket closer to her. She was trying to keep her breathing normal. Trying to contain her emotions. If he loves her why is she running? Running is the only thing Molly knows. It's all she can do. Once her feet left the wooden planks, she full out ran. She ran through the blistering cold night until she reached her flat. Once inside, she collapsed on the door. She crumbled into a ball on the floor. Molly was at a loss.

How could he love her? He can't. He wants to use her just like everyone else. At least, that's what she thought. She thought loving him would be nice and sweet. Now that it's a possibility she could get her heart broken for real. She could not get her heart ripped to shreds by him. She would not survive. She'd rather live her life with a school girl crush then a possible, heart ripping love. Molly was afraid of love. She was afraid of Sherlock's love. She was so afraid of how much power he had over her heart.

Molly had to get out.


	9. Closeing the God Damn Door

AN: VERY IMPORTANT! So I wrote this thing in jumbles, some chapters before others. Well I came upon a mistake in Purple Shirt of Sex that would ruin the ending. PLEASE GO BACK AND READ IT! I changed my mistake, it's so small I don't think you'll notice but it's very key to the ending.

AN: Its exam week… yay. If any of you read my other stuff there won't be any updates for a long time. But once I'm back from break I promise you all, there will be about 3 different stories up. But this story is coming to a close. I have a very special surprise for you all on Christmas. Lock your heart and hide your feels. I've noticed my swearing in this story has progressed, sorry. As the drama thickens as does the language I guess. (Btw this chapter is kind of sappy/lame but it's important.)

Sherlock decided he was done. Done giving up on the people he loved. He was tired of always trying to be this cold hearted bastard that everyone knew. He wanted to be more for Molly, for John, for what's his face, and for his own brother. But right now he needed to get to Molly.

"Molly, open up please," Sherlock said, knocking on her door. He had made it into the lobby but he couldn't get through her door; she had dead bolted it.

"Go away Sherlock," she said softly back. Her voice was barely audible between her sniffles and the door.

Sherlock rested his head on the door, "I want to know. Do you just not feel the same or have you been screwing with me this past year?"

"Why don't you do what you always do and deduce me." She said back. Sherlock understood nothing about women. They were always changing patterns.

"I think you're just afraid," he murmured, splaying his fingers over the closed door. She had run from him. That's how she copes with fear; that or she suffers quietly. She wasn't the fight or flight; she was always just the flight.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said. Her voice was quaking and a bit louder. She was trying to defy him.

"No, but you're afraid of what could happen." Suddenly the door was swung open; Sherlock stumbled but caught himself on the door frame.

"What do you want?" She hissed. Her eyes were red rimmed and her long Christmas sweater John had gotten her last year hung off her shoulder. She looked like a sexy mess to Sherlock. He wanted to kiss her tear stained cheeks and promise her he loves her with all his heart. He wanted to take back his mistake of leaving her in the morning.

"Molly, I need to be right here right now. Just please let me stay we don't need to do anything. Just let me stay." Sherlock felt like he had to be there. He didn't want to leave her. He had to be with her. He just confessed his love to her and he wanted nothing more than to sit in the same room as her, to protect her. He couldn't handle anymore rejection from the woman he loved. She was the one crushing his heart today, not the other way around.

"I don't want you here. Not after the way you left me," she said putting her hands on his chest and pushing him back. He hardly moved.

Instead, he grabbed her hands and held them to his chest. "I'm sorry I was scared of the morning after." It's as if she never heard him say sorry or confess his love. She was stuck on being left alone… oh Molly.

"You're not good to me, for me," she whined, struggling to get her hands out of his grasp. She was about to cry; she had never felt the way Sherlock makes her feel and she didn't like it. He made her happy and scared at the same time. He made her furious, beautiful and despised. He made her feel everything at once. Somethings she didn't want to feel, couldn't feel without wanting to disappear. But in her heart she still loves him no matter what he says to her and this scares her. It reminds her of her last boyfriend she was hooked in the abusive relationship because he made her feel fantastic some days, then like shit others. She stayed because she thought he loved her. She couldn't help but think, what if Sherlock is the same.

"God, Molly, I know I'm not good for you, but damnit I'm sorry. I need you tonight. Just to be with you." Sherlock reached his hand forward and touched her cheek to wipe away a slowly sinking tear. "I love you."

She pulled back; she wouldn't let him have her. She has to be free of men. "If I let you in I'll never be able to get away from you."

"Then stop running," he whispered.

"Don't do this to me. Please, Sherlock, just go away." More tears. She felt sick sometimes when she was around him. Sick as in back in the day when getting up was a struggle and she suffered through each day in a shallow dark place.

Sherlock felt like his heart was being torn. She didn't love him. She doesn't want him. He felt his head exploding. "I can't. I need you and you need me right now." He saw that cloud creeping her eyes again. He promised to always be there for her if she ever felt that way again, even if he never said those words to her she knew them. She had to.

"No. No I don't." She started to close the door.

"Molly-" Sherlock tried one more time.

"Goodnight Sherlock. Go away please." She successfully closed the door on him, not before he noticed his scarf clutched in her hand.

He turned with his back to the door and slid down to the floor. He rested his head on the door and murmured, "You're supposed to always be there for me."

Little did he know that on the other side Molly still stood her hand pressed on the door. "You're always supposed to be here for me."

…..

Molly had moved away from the door moments later then went to her closet. She trifled through the shirts till she found the one she was looking for. His purple shirt. She had re-sewn the buttons on and wore it every night trying to relish in the smell of him that was quickly fading. She slipped off her Christmas sweater and put on his shirt, buttoning up the buttons watching her tears darken the fabric. She crawled into bed holding his scarf around her arms and held bunched to her nose. She slept in a painful dream, she dreamed of him crawling into bed with her. Never hurting her. But there are times when Sherlock would always hurt her.

Sherlock feel asleep sitting on the floor outside her door. He just couldn't muster the effort to get up and walk away. He would be there when she got up and left for work then he would wait outside her buildings doors. He would wait outside of every door for her until she finally opened one and let him in.

In the morning he groaned from sleeping on the floor. He stretched his bones, his back hurt but it didn't matter because he would do anything for her. There was sunlight streaming through the lobby window it was late morning. Molly should be up or already gone by now. But her door was still locked and there wasn't a sound to be heard inside.

She wouldn't shallow inside all day that's not like Molly. He twisted the door knob and called for her. Nothing. No sounds no stirring of life inside. His mind raced to all the worst possibilities. One thought stuck: suicide. He knew of the pills, the doctors, the depression. He should have been more careful with her.

He couldn't get the deadbolt so he had no choice but to pull out his British Army Browning L9A1 and shoot the door. There was no scream on the other side nothing at all. He rushed in sweeping his gaze around the room, he rushed into the bathroom, the bedroom but she was nowhere to be found. She was gone.

"MOLLY!" he shouted. He fell down against the wall. Sherlock sat there on the floor his head in his hands. His breathing erratic, his eyes frantic how he wished it was only a drug induced hallucination. Soon he heard the sound of sirens. Someone outside must have heard the gunshot and called the police. They wouldn't do any good in finding her. The only one who could was himself. But his world was crashing. He couldn't think of this, of her. His mind palace was on fire, burning down all around him.


	10. I Need to go to My Mind Palace

**Hey everyone! landLadynotyrhouseKeeper is on vacation, so she has left the next two chapters up to me to update. No, I'm not some random person; I'm her friend/editor, Shilo the Game Changer. You know, the one she blames the late chapters on. Anyways, here's chapter eight. Enjoy!**

The police had found Sherlock shaking with a gun clutched in his hand. Lestrade showed up moments later to help Sherlock calm down, his heart breaking at the sight of his friend. He had never seen him so wrecked, so human. He placed a shock blanket on him and made mindless promises to find her. The officer had a sinking feeling in his chest, though. If Sherlock was like this and wasn't out searching, this case would be much harder than the others. Once they got him calm, Lestrade had to cuff him as a suspect. Lestrade didn't want to do this to his friend, but he had too. He felt horrible as he pulled out the cuffs.

Sherlock caught sight of the cuffs and rose to his feet, rage clear in his eyes. "You honestly think I would take the woman I love and hide her away?!" He shouted many other things ruthlessly as they roughly pulled him out the building. Lestrade followed behind willing, himself not to break the rules and release him.

"We need to consider you as a possible suspect right now." Lestrade refused to meet Sherlock's eye. Due to who he is and how he acts, everyone suspected Sherlock. He saw it in the officers eyes as he was led to the car. Donovan was smiling, shaking her head at him. Anderson stopped talking to someone so that he could wave at Sherlock. They had always thought he was crazy. Now they had what they needed to cuff him, for now.

The car ride to the station was full of silence. Sherlock was working over the kidnapping facts while Lestrade was on the phone, pleading for his innocence. Once at the station, Sherlock was dragged into a questioning room. He gave away as much as possible; as much information as his head could muster to come up with. There was no blood, no traces of struggle, no open windows, no traces of any evidence. They had nothing to accuse Sherlock of and nothing to lead them to someone else. After hours of interrogation, they let him leave.

Lestrade personally drove him home. The whole ride, he had to listen to the man weep in the seat next to him. Once they stopped, Sherlock practically fell out of the car. The officer watched him with a wary eye. If there was ever a time he would relapse, the time would be now. Perhaps in a few days he would find his friend dead with a needle in his arm. He stumbled through the door of 221B Baker Street full of grief. His shoulders sagging and his hands were shaking. He looked a complete mess with blood shot eyes and wild hair.

Mrs. Hudson and John were sitting down at the kitchen table upstairs, both feeling the same as Sherlock. She had been good friends with everyone she ever meet. John liked to go with Sherlock to the morgue sometimes and chat with Molly. Mrs. Hudson liked to make Molly tea and send it with Sherlock some days he went there. They both were in pain, but not nearly as much as Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson was in tears John just looked sad. Sherlock started to break down again just looking at them.

"For fucks sake she isn't dead!" Sherlock shouted, grabbing a book off the shelf and throwing it. Mrs. Hudson jumped at the harsh movement. She didn't scold him for putting another dent in her wall though.

John got up from the table and wrapped his arms around the shaking Sherlock. Both the men had new tears shimmering in their eyes. "It will be okay."

…

Two days later, Lestrade called.

"They found a note under her pillow." Lestrade's voice was grave. He had spent just as much time as Sherlock trying to figure this out. He had scoured as much information as he could. He went as far to demand security to watch Mr. Karo.

Sherlock braced for the worst. There was a possibility it was a suicide note and she went to die alone. He would have caught on though, right? Wouldn't he? She hadn't been that far down the road; Sherlock would have seen it in her eyes if she was that close to the edge.

"It says, 'Come and get me 7 days till Hannibal's dinner.'" Lestrade was deflated and depressed. He too had been friends with Molly; he had worked with her for many years. She had helped him solve murders, the same as Sherlock. She was well known by many people.

Sherlock immediately hung up pressing so harshly on the screen that a rigged crack formed. That meant he had five days to find her, to save her. All he had to work with was a note. He started pacing and didn't stop for hours. He couldn't come up with anything.

John had watched Sherlock the past few days and saw something change about him. He had feelings, he had cried, he had not eaten. He was crumbling. He wasn't what everyone thought him to be: invincible. John had driven to the station to get the note he had heard Lestrade say on the phone. Before he left he saw the missing person flyers of molly in neat stacks about to be placed all over the city. She was smiling and looked happy. John hoped he could see that smile again. He brought the note back and fond Sherlock was waiting by the door as soon as he came in. He ripped it from Johns fingers, clutched it, and began pacing again, looking it over. The carpet was flat and a shade darker where he had been pacing the last several hours.

Still, hours later, John went back into the living room to try and get Sherlock to sleep. John was tired, but could not close his eyes, fearful of what his flat mate would do if he was left alone to long. Sherlock was still pacing, his sleeves rolled up, showing his arms covered in nicotine patches. His skin was turning an ugly yellowish pale color. Keeping those on to long would surely give him cancer or kill him.

"Just think of it as another case," John said, leaning against the wall.

Sherlock froze. "Just think of it as another case?! Another case?! This isn't just another case this is Molly." He roared, turning and pacing faster. From all his pacing, the floor had begun to creak.

"Sherlock, calm down; we will find her. I promise." John wanted to find her; she was a lovely girl and Sherlock's heart. Without her, Sherlock would never survive the world. And John would never survive the world without Sherlock.

"How can I find her? Tell me what to do John," Sherlock begged, gripping his hair tightly with the note and the police bag clutched in his other hand. He was begging for assistance; the great Sherlock needed help. Had this been a different situation, John would have laughed.

"Go to your mind palace. Think, dammit, think!"

Sherlock stopped pacing. "The writing, it's a man's hand, left handed." He spoke quickly, wanting things to move faster.

"Good, good. Keep going." Maybe they could solve this by midnight, which was only ten minutes away.

"The paper is thick, like sketch paper." His eyes franticly looked all over the place. His mind scurrying to solve this. "Uh, the ink, it smells of spice, fountain pen, imported, fancy, expensive, a gift from someone rich from another country. Gifts like that are given to important people. But anyone could have stolen it." His words tumbled out of his mouth. He shouted a curse word and threw down the bag.

"There's got to be more," John, said walking up to Sherlock and gripping his shoulders.

"I don't have anymore, there is no more, John." Sherlock pressed the heels of his hand into his eyes.

"It's alright, Lestrade will find her." John was trying to be soothing to his best friend. Sherlock needed to get out of this dark hole to figure this out. He needed the heroin.

"I'm supposed to find her. To be her knight in shining armor. To save her from the wolf." Sherlock ripped out of Johns grasp and began pacing again.

"And you will." John's voice wavered. There was a chance they would not find her. There was a chance she would die.

Sherlock whipped around. He got right up in Johns face then shouted, "I will find her dead. If I can't figure this out, I will find her dead!"

"There's time, Sherlock; still some time left." John was unfazed by the yelling, he had to be Sherlock's rock for once.

"There is no time. No time long enough to find her." The finality of those words hit John with full force. Sherlock was giving up, he could not do this.

"Your still getting over the shock. I'm sure you'll be able to-"

"No! No, there is no shock." Sherlock stopped moving. Nothing moved for a moment. The world fell silent before he spoke again. He chuckled and his eyes crinkled. John thought he was going crazy. "I bloody should have known but I don't." Sherlock rushed to the couch and picked up his dress shoes, sitting on the side.

"What are you talking about? What should you have known?" John's heart was going to explode. Molly would be saved. Sherlock would be saved. Everything would be okay.

"She was my weakness, all along it was her. Now that they know, they will use her against me. Which means..." Sherlock's face brightened, his lips curled up in that devil smile of how obvious it is. John still didn't understand but he would pretend he did.

Sherlock knew what to do. Molly would be returned shortly. John was still quizzical as to what it was he was going to do, "Means what?"

"They can't kill her if they want to get me." He jumped in the air, something he did when he got a really good case. John laughed lightly trying to feel better but he still felt off. Even though everything was going to be alright, he couldn't help but still feel miserable. Sherlock rushed to the door and ripped his coat off the hook. He slipped it on and did the buttons faster than lightning.

"So what are you going to do?" John rushed after Sherlock, down the stairs to the lobby door.

Sherlock popped his coat collar getting an eye roll from John. "I'm going to give him what he's always wanted. Catch you later, John." He winked then was out the door. The door of 221B slammed shut with an icy draft, a draft that would not be accompanied by the long swishing of coat tails for a long time.


	11. Angels Will Die

**Hello! Shilo again. I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter! Our fantastic author should be back from vacation shortly. But until then, here's chapter nine!**

* * *

><p>"Isn't this what you wanted?" Sherlock stood above the sidewalk on a rather high building awaiting his pitfall. The grey sky loomed above him, only making this setting more contrast. He was on the phone with the man who held Molly captive. He had known all along what to do and he felt like such a fool for not realizing it earlier. How inconceivable of him.<p>

When he had shown up at the address and got on the roof, there was a phone waiting with one number. That number led him to the voice of her captor. As soon as the man spoke, Sherlock was sure who it was. He was angry at himself for not knowing sooner, he had let himself get distracted. _Never let your heart rule your head. _He had made that fatal flaw.

Oh if only she had let him in that night. She would be here. They would be out at her work daunting each other. They would have been casually flirting over a dead man's body. But instead that bastard had her tied up god knows where.

"Oh yes, always and forever." The man said. He sounded posh, sarcastic, deadly. Just the kind of Irish accent that would capture any woman's ears. It had worked on his dear, sweet Molly. Damn this man, damn himself.

"Then I'll give you what you want, but you have to promise me to let her go." Sherlock wanted to know that if he did what he's about to do, she will be okay. This had to be worth it and the only thing worth what he was about to do was her life and the life not yet come into this world. He stood a few feet from the edge, not yet ready to look down. He only wanted to look up.

The man laughed. "I always knew I would burn the heart out of you." His heart was Molly. _His heart was Molly._ His weakness was Molly.

Sherlock hated this man the moment he realized who he was. What he had done, and what he would do. "Touch her and I'll-"

"You'll what? You'll be dead," He said, with snark. He giggled slightly, only setting Sherlock on edge more. If only he could just find the man and kill him. But there is no other way than this.

"I want to speak to her." Sherlock's throat tightened. This moment would be his last. He wanted to hear her voice. Her sweet, angelic voice. How he wished he could have heard her say she loved him or to scream his name again. Just to hear her say anything to him. He would miss her stutter. How her cheeks tinted and she clicked her heels. Or the way she played with her scarf or when she would bring him coffee. Her daring attitude she only showed for him; he would miss that most of all.

The man sighed dramatically, no doubt paired with an eye roll. "If that's how you choose your final words."

There were muffled noises then a cry of pain, her cry of pain. Sherlock clenched his fists. "Sherlock help me," She cried helplessly into the phone. Her voice was pitched. He wondered if she had fought back, if she pulled out her pepper spray he knew she hid behind the canvas over her bed.

"Oh, my dear Molly, I am." Sherlock wanted to save her, and he was trying. He was rubbing circles on his chest, trying to calm his erratic heart.

"I love you. I love you, I love you Sherlock." She said quickly over and over. "I should have told you," she said, letting out a sob.

His heart stopped. All along she did love him. Now he would never get to enjoy her love. But if he didn't do this he would kill her, and in the end himself. "Molly you can't possibly love a man like me." He wanted her to not love him. So that one day she could move on.

"But I do, I always have." She whispered.

"I'm going to save you Molly," he paused. Sherlock could picture her tied up in a room underground only lit with the yellowest of bulbs with flies buzzing around. He would save her. "I love you, Molly Hooper," he whispered back. One day, her last name should have been Holmes.

She sucked in a breath. "Sherlock I'm-"

"I think that's enough," the man cut in. there was the sound of ripping, duct tape, and the dim sound of Molly screaming his name. "You want to know how I bound the poor girl." If Sherlock could only cut this man's tongue out before he died.

"No, I'd rather not know." He said through gritted teeth.

"I found her with your scarf clutched in her hands, I used it to bind her to the chair," he chuckled. Sherlock's heart dropped again. She slept with his scarf… to be comforted?

"How fitting," he spat.

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock asked the question he didn't want to because he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it to know it was final.

Sherlock's voice was thicker then steel. "If I don't jump?"

"I'll kill her then find your little John, do away with him and everyone else you love." The voice on the other end laughed, a little too psychotic for his liking.

"No time to leave a note, then." Sherlock finally took those small steps to the ledge. The gravel on the roof top crunched beneath his feet. He then stepped onto the six inch ledge, a dead man's walk. He now let his eyes wonder to the world below him and watched it bustle with life.

"Just jump already, the anticipation is killing me." To think that this was the man who had taken Molly out for dinner. The dinner they had shared a drink at was just below him. That was why this location was specific. It was where Molly and the man had their first and only date. Sherlock would fall for her, break his pretty face on the sidewalk just so she can breathe another breath to live another day.

Sherlock sighed. "See you in hell, Jim Moriarty." He closed the phone and threw it behind him. He looked up at the early morning sun and tried to blink back his tears.

"I love you Molly. I did this to protect you." He shuddered with a held back sob. He had to be strong right now, for her. "But now you need to find a new man to protect you." Sherlock knew there were microphones here that Molly would hear him. "You should name it after your mother."

Sherlock leaned over, sucked in a breath and let his body go slack. He fell. _He fell_. He flew. He soared. He slipped. He crashed. There was blood. There was death. There was no more Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

><p><strong>Now before you all yell at me, remember, I'm just the little editor. Save all your flames and feels for landLadynotyrhouseKeeper. Nice meeting you all! Please don't murder my friend.<strong>

**-Shilo The Game Changer**

*_found internet! thanks brit! but i cant post at midnight :(_*

AN: Well it's over, insert dramatic sigh, and this was my fist Sherlolly and first fic ever. (I wonder if you caught all the references, hmmm.) I bet no one will notice but I had my beta post the final chapter at exactly midnight, when 2014 fell so did Sherlock. I really want to know what you guys thought because none of my friends ship Sherlolly and won't read it so it's up to you to tell me.

Thank you all for taking your time to read my fanfic. It's short and kind of off but I'm okay with it. I wish you all a happy New Year's (and I hope you had a Merry Christmas, sorry I didn't leave a note on the X-mas chapter but I was away).

Thank you.

Catch… you… later.

Oh and #NotDead

Hint-hint, wink-wink, nudge-nudge

HINT-HINT, WINK-WINK, NUDGE-NUDGE


	12. Say your sorry

There she was. He wished he could say she hadn't changed but she had. She was thinner, so thin. Her hair was longer, her eyes duller. But her eyes brightened as soon as the young girl came running to her.

Sherlock stayed in the back of Mycroft's car as he watched molly pick up the little girl and place her on her hip. The little girl looked just like her mother. She had her brown eyes and brown hair but his nose and hands. Maybe one day he would put her fingers to work and teach her the violin. Molly kissed the little girls nose and she giggled. Sherlock could see her laugh but he wanted to hear it. He wanted to hold his little girl so bad. He had been back from his brother's mission for a few weeks but he couldn't bring himself to let molly know of his prescience. He wanted her to move on to be free of him. But would he be able to move on from her? He could not. Especially knowing he had a daughter.

Mycroft sighed from beside Sherlock, "Sherlock it's been 4 years. Why don't you just tell her?"

"Tell her what that I'm still alive and have always been." His eyes watched his love play with their child. Molly was now pushing her on a swing smiling along with her daughter.

"Yes of course." Said Mycroft.

Sherlock ruffled his hair, "She would hate me Mycroft. She would yell at me for not being there for the baby." He had been away for years on the mission he had missed his daughter's birth and her growing up into a toddler. He missed the chance to hold her little hand as she lay in a bundle of pink blankets at the hospital. He would never get to do that.

Mycroft glanced at his brother worryingly, "You really want her to grow up without a father?"

Sherlock's blank gaze watched the two people he loved most in the world, "She would have anyway."

Sherlock had asked to be driven away and Mycroft allowed it. He had considered telling molly himself that his younger brother was alive. Sherlock had instructed him to keep an eye on her over the past 4 years and he obliged. He had watched her crumble he had watched her try to love again to no avail. At the same time he watched his own brother get attached to the drugs again. But now that he was back on home turf he hadn't taken the needle again.

…

Sherlock had been staying in an apartment not far from molly's. For weeks he watched her go on morning runs with his little girl being pushed in a carriage. Every time he saw her run by he desperately wanted to leave his flat and run with her. He wanted so much, too much. Each time he saw her he would need to remind himself he could never have her he would ruin her.

One morning as he sat by the window with his tea Mycroft had called him.

"What do you want?" Sherlock growled into the phone.

"I want you to stop staring at her and just interact with her."

Sherlock's eyes scanned the street sure enough he could spot the very well hidden cameras.

"You don't need the surveillance anymore, that's my job now." He watched down the street as he saw molly come running down their child giggling and playing with a toy.

Mycroft sighed, "Will you at least leave the flat to come visit mother?"

Sherlock had stayed in the flat for many days. He hardly left and if he did he only went out at night to get food. He now knew what the research on soldiers meant. They function well on the battlefield but can't seem to function in normal society, that's exactly how Sherlock felt now. "If you stop bothering me about molly."

"Deal." With those sharp words Mycroft hung up on his baby brother.

…..

She saw him. Her eyes had found his under that tuff of hair. Of course this was a trap set up by his brother. Mycroft never had a thing for love but for the hell of him he could never let Sherlock's heart rest.

His eyes took her in as she approached him. She was wearing a long cream colored dress with no sleeves. She looked naked in the moonlight, she looked stunning. Her hair was braided down her back with strays blowing in the summer wind. Her eyes seemed to brighten the more she looked at him. As she got closer Sherlock could see how she had changed in the last four years. She was different as well.

She now stood before him, her breathing stopped, "Sherlock…" she said softly trailing off. She didn't know if he was real.

"Hello molly." He said softly back. No one was smiling both were trying to deny the fact that they were in the shadow of the other. Sherlock reached out and gently touched her cheek with his fingers. She gasped and cringed away slightly. Sherlock thought the worst. She must hate him. She must feel a lot of things that he could not decipher right now.

Her fists clenched at her side in anger, "You…" a tear slid down her face.

He reached up to wipe it away, "Molly, my dear-"

Suddenly she slapped him, hard, "How dare you!" his head had twisted to the side at a rather strong slap. She had a thing for hitting him. But Sherlock didn't care. He wanted her to do whatever she wanted to him as long as he got to feel it, even if it was hits of rage.

He rotated his jaw and tried to speak again, "I-" he was slapped again.

Her eyes were brimming with tears. There was so much she wanted to say. She wanted to kiss him right now but her anger ruled over, "You bloody knew I was pregnant with your daughter and you went and jumped off a building!"

Sherlock gripped her hands to stop her from hitting again, "If I hadn't neither of you would be alive, I wouldn't be alive!" Sherlock had known a few days after that night that she was pregnant as soon as he caught on he knew their lives were in danger. That was partially why he had to stay the night in her flat, that's why he begged for her. If he told her she was pregnant that night she would have thought him crazy, after all how could the father possibly know before the mother? Well Sherlock knew.

She ripped her hands out of his grasp and took a step back from him. Sherlock's heart stopped at her subtle movement. "I thought you dead."

"Mommy…." A little voice drifted in the space between them. Sherlock looked down and nearly cried. His little angle was standing at his feet sucking her thumb looking up at him with big brown eyes. She wore a pink floral Easter type gown, she looked like a doll.

Molly bent down and lifted her up. She placed her on her hip and held her face to her neck. Molly had full on tears now. "Hush darling it's alright." Sherlock soon felt his own checks stain with liquid.

The little girl took her thumb out of her mouth and cocked her head at Sherlock. Molly was in a fluster, she didn't know what to do at the moment she considered running away right now with her daughter. But she couldn't do something so horrible. The girl opened her mouth and Sherlock saw she had lost a tooth since the last saw her smile, "Is this daddy?"

Sherlock gave out a sob mixed with a laugh. He was over joyed that his daughter could tell who he was. She would grow up to have a mind like his. Sherlock reached out and placed his hands on the side of his little angles face, "Yes this is daddy."

..fin..

AN: please tell me what you think and be brutally honest. I hope you enjoyed it. Merci to my editor. (Btw the reason I never gave the name of the baby was so that you as a reader could decide or relate.) Should I do more Sherlock stuff? Should I add in to this one? Should I continue into their future? You tell me what to do.

If you wish, I'd be very happy if you read my other Loki stories and stuff.


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